Overpriced Plaid (and other closet related problems)
by The Readers Muse
Summary: "There is absolutely nothing wrong with plaid," Eric replied, emptying four separate baggies of sugar into his coffee and taking a careful sip. "How dare you mock my deepest fantasies."


**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This story is pre-canon and pre-za. It is meant to be explore the beginning of Aaron and Eric's relationship – or at least how it started. This fic resulted after an ask made its way to my tumblr regarding Aaron and Eric's background. I made a comment about Aaron's unfortunate love affair with plaid and emeraldkitten reblogged with a head canon that basically revolved around the idea that it was all in an effort to woo Eric after he discovered Eric was a man with a plaid-related craving.

**Warnings:** Vague spoilers for the back half of season five. *****Contains: fluff, cuteness, mild adult language. Vague allusions to mild homophobia, ie: Aaron's childhood in terms of not growing up in a supportive household when it came to his sexual orientation.

**Overpriced Plaid (and other closet related problems)**

He was halfway through demolishing his burger and fries when Eric walked into the cafeteria. He fumbled with the greasy patty, internally panicking, swallowing hurriedly until he nearly choked on what felt like half a cow and then some.

He pressed a fist against his upper chest, struggling through a couple gulps of coffee as watering eyes followed the red-head and his friend – the same woman he had lunch with every day at 12:45pm sharp – as they ambled towards the salad bar.

"He wore a plaid, goose-down lumberjack jacket to our first date, Eric. _It was awful…_why, why are you laughing? Urgh!"

He gurgled through a cough, cheeks heating. Trying to muffle the worst of it as Steven – his work partner – followed his gaze mildly. Only to sigh and roll his eyes before turning back to his book. Thumping him on the back one-handed without missing a beat. Already nose deep into a fresh chapter of the murder mystery of the week and therefore even more unsympathetic than usual.

_Jesus, he was hopeless._ The man had only been gone a month – touring Somalia with his section of the NGO. And here he was, practically sending himself to the hospital over it.

He was unable to stop himself from taking it all in as the red-head gestured animatedly with the salad tongs. Making the mousy brunette beside him laugh as whatever was said was lost in the surrounding thrum of the busy room.

And not for the first time he berated himself. He felt like he was back in high school nursing a pre-teen crush. Hell, he was half-way convinced the man didn't even know he existed, and yet, here he was, tying himself in knots about it. He swore, once upon a time, he had bigger balls than this. Better confidence at the very least. But there was just something about the man that had him stalled.

"So, here I was, trying not to think anything jinxy. And then he takes off his coat in the middle of the restaurant. And what do you think was under it? _More plaid_. I nearly died. I was in a dress and heels and everything and here he was, looking like he'd just walked off the cover of "Woodsmen Weekly" or whatever and-"

He perked up when the two of them approached. Eying the free end of their table hopefully, only to deflate when they chose the table opposite. _So close, yet so far._ He pushed a couple fries around his plate morosely. Getting them all soggy with ketchup and vinegar as Steven somehow managed to get his fork of braised chicken neatly in his mouth without looking up from his book.

The sad part was that he barely knew anything about the man. They worked in completely different wings of the building and the only time he even saw him was at lunch or across a crowded elevator every couple of mornings.

Okay, so, maybe that was him being over dramatic. He knew some things. He'd certainly been through enough lunches to be pretty certain the man was a vegetarian. A vegetarian with a wicked sweet tooth unless he'd completely misinterpreted the reason for the man's frequent side-trips to the frozen yogurt machine. He knew he burned rather than tanned in the sun and smiled on a dime – open and wholesome in a way that made his stomach dip happily, even when it wasn't directed at him. He was pre-med and half a year fresh from a tour in the Middle East with Doctors without Borders.

_All in all the man seemed like as genuine a person as anyone could hope for._

_And hell if he wasn't hoping._

"You are going to give me an ulcer," Steven commented dryly, distracted but notably self-suffering this time as he turned the page. "Please do something about this terrible pining before I lock the two of you in an elevator and conveniently forget to tell anyone until you sort yourselves out."

He didn't answer. Too distracted by the way the man was sprawled out across his chair, all long legs and lean everything as he stretched alluringly. Looking sleek and effortlessly stunning in his green shirt and black sports coat. Certainly putting him to shame as he looked down at the frayed hem of his plain blue t-shirt with a faintly betrayed look.

_He supposed it didn't help that he hadn't exactly been putting his best foot forward much either._

The whole thing felt mildly ridiculous. Okay, no, that was a lie. Mildly ridiculous had come and gone eight months ago during the interdepartmental safety seminar when the man had sashayed in at the last second and touched his shoulder from behind. All vibrant blue eyes and stupidly attractive everything else – all wrapped up in a fitted, pale grey suit and a green tie - as he leaned down and asked if the seat next to him was taken.

He'd been dumbstruck. Having only enough sense to shake his head and spend the next two hours breathing in the scent of him. Watching him reign as undisputed champion of Words with Friends under the table edge until the meeting had wrapped up and the man was on the move before he could even so much as open his mouth.

It had basically redefined the definition of torture as far as he was concerned.

"There is absolutely nothing wrong with plaid," Eric replied, emptying four separate baggies of sugar into his coffee and taking a careful sip. "How _dare_ you mock my deepest fantasies."

The woman he was with just rolled her eyes, abandoning her small bowl of salad for a steaming plate of pasta and dug in with relish. Poking at him with the tines of her fork until he caved and passed her the cup for a sip.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry it didn't work out with Seth," Eric added, long fingers worrying the loose plastic rim of the table edge. "He seemed really into you when I was telling him about you before I left."

"Eric, you know I love you, but you need to stop setting me up with guys _you_ want to date," his friend declared, smiling warmly despite the fork she was still brandishing. "You aren't doing me any favors you know. I mean really, why don't you date them? I can do my own fishing."

"It would help if they weren't so tragically heterosexual," Eric shot back, balancing on the rear legs of his chair and wrinkling his nose. "You met Seth, you could practically set a ruler by him."

He fiddled around with his straw, trying not to look like he was eavesdropping as the girl laughed. Pulling a face when Eric outlined what sounded like a mixture between an ode and a full on defense of the history of plaid and why he found it ruggedly attractive before Steven coughed pointedly.

"He looks at you when you aren't looking," Steven commented mildly, finally tearing himself away from his book to stare nearsightedly at him. "Please tell me you've at least noticed that much?"

"What? No, I-" he started, chancing a look only to find the man disappointingly engaged in his salad. Plucking at the stem of a cherry almost indecently as the red-head's friend launched into an animated retelling of a very awkward porch-side kiss and all the reasons why Eric wasn't allowed to be her wing-man again, ever.

"Hopeless," Steve declared, bald spot reflecting in the bright overhead lights. Seemingly giving up on him as he buried his nose back in his book. Leaving him with a single, rather important question foremost on his mind.

_Did he even own anything plaid?_

* * *

The answer, as it turned out, was no. No he didn't. And was summarily solved by a grueling two hour trip to the mall on a busy Friday night because he figured there was probably a difference between Walmart plaid and fifty dollars more expensive plaid in the men's wear section at Nordstrom's.

_Maybe._

It was probably, hands down, the stupidest thing he'd ever done for a date. But despite getting lost in the parking lot and nearly run over twice waiting for a safe moment to dash across the crosswalk, he couldn't quite bring himself to regret it.

After all, it was hard to argue with the figure he cut in the mirror back in his apartment. Penguin-waddling around in his best work slacks in search of some scissors to cut off the price tags.

"Well, here goes nothing," he murmured, facing himself down in the mirror as he tossed the tags into the recycle. Unsure of what to think when for the first time in a long time the usual ghosts of decade old arguments – his mother screaming, father quiet, years of hiding who he was, years of hiding what he wanted - declined to make an appearance.

It was tenuous and just a little bit scary - invigorating and unstable.

But it felt refreshingly like progress.

And personally, he'd take a step forward over the alternative _any _day of the week.

* * *

And funnily enough, it _did _work, after a fashion.

The next day he ended up getting more than his fair share of Eric's attention. Probably a bit _too_ much if he was being honest. Because when they passed in the hall that morning, Eric ended up walking clean into a sliding glass door. Too busy shooting him a series of admiring and downright hopeful looks to notice the looming threat lurking in the form of his supervisor's open office door.

Frankly, he hadn't been much help. Unable to believe his luck as he caught the man's gaze and sent him a hesitant, nervous little smile that Eric returned ten-fold. He hadn't even noticed the open door until a split second before Eric's face connected with it. Echoing embarrassingly loud through the empty hall as said supervisor spilled her coffee all over herself and suddenly the hall was full of a bunch of very curious and concerned people.

He felt so guilty he insisted on accompanying him to the walk-in down the street to make sure his nose wasn't broken. Trying to figure out how he'd gotten so lucky as he steered Eric out into the street. One hand hovering under the man's elbow as the leggy-ginger tried and failed to keep his laughter to himself, breaking out into giggles as he kept his head tipped back - bloody tissue trying to stem the worst of the flow, keeping them out of oncoming traffic as the man chattered happily. But since he got a coffee date out of it, he figured everything had worked itself out in the end.

Steven gloated for weeks.

He wasn't even mad.

* * *

**A/N #1: **Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – This story is now complete.


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